


Goodbye, Dream

by candiedwithoutthecan



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Dear dream, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29137137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candiedwithoutthecan/pseuds/candiedwithoutthecan
Summary: George has to accept the fact that Dream is gone, but he can't.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 78





	Goodbye, Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qekyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qekyo/gifts).



> hi! :D i wrote this as an alternate ending where Dream never came back from the ending of 'Dear Dream' by Qekyo. i personally loved it, and have never cried so hard over A FIC?-  
> go read it! this is my little twist on it, hope you enjoy!
> 
> !! implied suicidal thoughts, and anything around that area, like depression and such. be safe! you are loved !!

It's been days, maybe weeks, if anything, _months._ The war was over, and all of the men came home to their beautiful families. Well, most of them. George remembers how happy they looked, to hold their lovers in their arms again, kissing their heads, lips, necks, like they regretted not doing it before they left. They had every right to, especially since they had no idea if they'd come back or not. In George's case, it was 'not'. At least his lover did it before _he_ left. Forever.  
  
And now George is miserably sat back in the discomfort of his own family's home. Forcing spoonfulls of soup from his utensil to his throat. He's not spoken a word to them since he figured Dream was gone. He's not spoken a word to Dream's family. He's not spoken to anyone, really. He feels terrible for leaving Dream's family especially. Feels terrible about leaving his mother to deal with the kids alone. Feels terrible about leaving Dream's sister alone to pick flowers by herself. Feels terrible for leaving Dream's brother to play by himself. Feels terrible for leaving the family as a whole, to mourn by themselves. He feels terrible that they probably think he's a terrible person. He is, and he knows he is. He can't bare to see them without thinking of Dream.  
  
He's sat moping for weeks, forcing himself to drag out of his bed and head down to the station. He knows there's no more trains coming. He knows the war is over. He knows Dream's not coming home. So _why_ can't he just accept it? Why does he need to constantly lure himself into this trap everyday? Why can't he just let it go? He made a promise, that's why.  
  
He's not even near finished with his soup when he pushes back from his chair to leave. To make his daily return to that haunting place. Somehow more haunting than his home. He knows he's not welcomed here, but where else would he be welcomed? He dreaded passing by the library, somehow now more that it was alive again. Dream's family hates him, he's almost certain, and he knows no one else. He knows his 'ex wife' wouldn't lead him in, either. Not even out of pity. This is the place he goes for now. Stuck inside of this hell-hole.  
  
"Where are you going? You've barely finished your soup?" his mother questions, looking up to him as he passes his bowl to her, suggesting she finish it.  
  
"Down to the station," he answers. He roughly slips his arms through his coat and places his boots on his feet by the door.  
  
His mother sighs and looks to his father. He's sat there, unfazed, reading over the morning's newspaper. She lightly nudges her leg against his under the table. When they make eye contact, she jerks her head in George's direction, visible through his peripheral vision. He grunts and shrugs, but awakened by another nudge, he puts down the paper and focuses on his son.  
  
"You're not going down to that station, boy," he states. "Not today, not tomorrow. Hell, not again until your dead."  
  
The word burns in George's mind. It burns in his mind, down to his throat, into his stomach, and it sinks. It sizzles in the rushing anger boiling in George's body. 'Dead'.  
  
"Well, _I'm_ not the one dead, am I?" he hisses.  
  
He stands stiff at the words that have just left his mouth. Of course, he's rushing with flooding anger. But that didn't make him any less heartbroken. It was a mixture between scorching rage, and sleepless nights, doing nothing but creating puddles of tears. He's mad Dream was taken away from him, and he's sad he's gone. The worst mixture, really.  
  
"Jesus, don't say that, George," his mother timidly scolds. "You're blessed to be here, the Lord has his plans."  
  
"The lord?" George asks in disbelief. He scoffs and rubs the scruff that's been growing over the bottom half of his face during this time. "There's no such thing."  
  
"You take back those words right now," his father slams his fists against the table, frightening his mother, which makes her gasp with terror even louder.  
  
"For what? You're telling me 'the lord' can walk on water, make a blind man see, and create food for over thousands of people, but he can't save the man I love!?"  
  
An aching sensation rises in his throat when he realizes his father's tightened face.  
  
"That boy was poison," his father says through gritted teeth. "You both were a sin from the deepest, darkest pit of hell."  
  
His mother's eyes water, but yet she still stays silent. She wasn't accepting of George, but she never disowned him. She sits uncomfortably in her seat, almost looking more uncomfortable than George has been feeling. He can't believe she's letting these words fall out of her husband's mouth, yet he's not surprised.  
  
"Only sinners create sins."  
  
And with that his mother bursts into an ocean of tears, his father screaming inaudible words and noises. George never pays much attention to them, and with that, he leaves. Locking the curses and slams away to the deepest part of his brain.

George remembers the first time he walked out of his house so angrily. The day Dream had gone away to the pavilion to be drafted.

_'War stops for no man.'_

Everyday that sentence burns in his thoughts.

He's never coming back, and he had his mind set on that.  
  
-  
  
At the station, George stands on the cement path just by the tracks, unafraid if one of those trains were to come past and take him out. It's not like it mattered, if they did. He had nothing to live for anymore, his everything was gone.  
  
Usually, Sapnap is lousily hidden behind one of the thick, brick posts, not worried about being seen by George. And still, he's there today, when George takes a peek over his shoulder. His limp's gotten better since the day he came back. He's rested for long enough, and is now back to better health. George envies him, but not for himself.  
  
He stands quietly, letting the breeze blow back his uncut hair, which he needs to cut, soon. It's near past his nose by now. He imagines Dream spying on him from above, judging him. George thinks a 'God' isn't real, yet, still believes Dream is up somewhere in his rightful place in Heaven. Maybe it's cause he knows Dream thought a God was real, so George goes against his own beliefs to support Dream's. Dead or alive.  
  
Getting dragged out of his thoughts, George feels the weight of a hand grip his shoulder. He knows Sapnap is stood beside him, going to comfort him, and then attempt to convince him Dream is gone. He knows. He just doesn't want to accept it. He knows.  
  
"Hey," Sapnap greets.  
  
"Evening," is all George speaks. He's aware of how this conversation will end.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Well, maybe he didn't.  
  
"What?" George asks, seeking for a reason in the change of conversation compared to previous ones.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sapnap repeats. "The world is unfair."  
  
George looks to him angrily, only because the statement was true. The world was unfair. To Dream. His eyes start to fill with tears, and he grips his own hands tighter, popping them cold. He usually tries to hold back his emotions, especially around people, but this time it was inevitable. The tears spew faster than he can mange, and soon he's a rainstorm. He helplessly falls to the ground in defeat.  
  
Sapnap kneels, comforting the smaller man, almost trapping him in an arm's wrap. George pushes him away with meaningless harshness, and Sapnap knows it. Yet, he finds himself pulling George away from the tracks, and George allows the action to happen.  
  
He screams. That's all he needed. He screams his heart out. His lover is dead. It sounded like _he_ was about to be, too, due to the coarse raspiness. He sobbed and sobbed until he couldn't anymore. He felt ashamed that Sapnap stood there watching him, but he felt more unbothered than ashamed. What would he know? He's never lost someone the way George has. He doesn't know the feeling.  
  
Again, he places a hand on George's shoulder.  
  
"Stop it!" George shouts with rage. "Don't act like you know how I feel! You don't, and you never will!"  
  
George notices the way Sapnap steps back in terror. His eyes widening, and his hands almost coming up in self defense. George sees he's right, of course he was. Sapnap didn't know how he felt.  
  
"You're right, I dont," Sapnap tries to soothe. "I'll never understand until it happens to me. I just hope you know, George, you have me, whether you think you do or you don't. I hope you find that the Lord-"  
  
" _Fuck off_ , about 'the Lord'," George air quotes. "There's no such thing! No fucking thing about this, has the lord got to do with!"  
  
Sapnap looks to him with deep sadness. He knows George will never come back from this.  
  
George is tired, of having to wake up every morning, and remembering Dream isn't there anymore. He's tired, of repeating the same routine over, and over, and over, and _over_. Tired of the same days repeating. Tired of crying at random moments when he remembers Dream. Tired of having to face the fact that Dream's gone. George wants to be gone. George is tired of living with nothing to live for.  
  
"Have you ever prayed, George?" Sapnap genuinely asks. What a stupid question to ask now.  
  
"What?" George breathes out.  
  
"Just," Sapnap rolls his hand, insisting George to answer.  
  
"Of course I have. When I believed."  
  
"Did any of those prayers come true?"  
  
George thinks. He thinks back to the one or three times he prayed for something to happen. And two out of the three did it come true. The one being a failure is the thing he suffers with now.  
  
"Twice," George silently answers. "They were stupid prayers, though. Nothing that could ever amount to this."  
  
"Still, they came true, didn't they?" Sapnap tries to convince.  
  
George looks to him, poison in his eyes.  
  
"Answer me this, then," he starts. "If the 'Lord' knows all, then he knew this would happen, right? He'd know that I wouldn't want my prayers to be wasted on winning a bet I made, or wishing for a shop to be opened. He'd know if I had a choice, I would've wanted my prayers to be answered for Dream, and Dream only." He stops for a minute to examine the man beside him. He examines him back in pain, yet George is not sure if it's genuine or out of pity. "Why didn't he answer my prayer that was most important of all, hm?" And he pushes, waiting for Sapnap reply.  
  
"I..." Sapnap trails off, words unable to leave his mouth. George knows he feels nothing but hurt. Not for himself, but for George.  
  
"Answer me that."  
  
Sapnap still, stays silent, fitting his forehead into his palms.  
  
"Fucking answer me!" George shouts, outraged. Of course he's outraged. "Why can't the lord answer my prayers when they matter most!?" This was more of a taunt, but George secretly did want an answer. He silently sobs at the fact that his lover would never return. He was out of the war, except the war wasn't the one he had fought in. Instead, the world they were living in.  
  
"Why did he have to take Dream?" George quivers. His tears have now been shared between himself and Sapnap, who's barely let out a sniffle or two.  
  
George sinks into the fact that he'll never exchange books with Dream ever again. Never get tiny love notes in one's he suggested. He'll never be able to kiss Dream again. He should've held on longer that day he left. He should've. He'll never be able to hear his soothing voice, the one he fell in love with. He'll never hear his sweet-as-honey laugh. He'll never be able to hold him. Dream made a promise, and he broke it. _He fucking broke it._ So why does George keep coming down to this station? Why can't he break his own promise? Why did he ever have to meet Dream?  
  
"Fuck your lord," George says strictly. "He's never done shit for me."  
  
-  
  
On the way to his new destination, George is forced to walked past that terrible library. Now, more than ever was it buzzing with people walking in and out. He wonders how it looks inside, but has never had enough strength to pull himself into it. Instead, he observes from afar, looking through the window him and Dream once sat in. Discussing books, and which ones to read next. Only suggesting the ones they read, to leave notes in.  
  
They never went on their date. George remembers the day Dream clumsily walked into the mute library, when it was mute. Stumbling over his own feet and gripping onto the flower bouquet tightly to his chest before pushing them towards George.  
  
He remembers how in love he felt. The same love he feels now, yet is no longer able to express it. He remembers the love he felt for the disorganized man. The appreciation he felt for him. How deeply he admired him. He remembers how awkwardly, yet comfortably, the silence filled the library.  
  
He pulls out the small piece of parchment paper from his pocket, unfolding it, aware of its content.  
  
' _I like books, you like books, why don't we start writing the story of us'_  
  
He stares at the window, long and hard, visioning himself in it. Himself and Dream. This didn't feel real. None of it did. George wanted nothing more than to be with Dream. It would probably do him great peace if he was with him right now. Dead.  
  
-  
  
It's grown dark now, the wind cooler than it was. George washed down his thoughts throughout the rest of his day. He's long gone from the tears that flooded his face. And now, he's stood at the doorstep of Dream's home. Should he knock?  
  
He does. Very hesitantly, and very quietly, and in case no one heard, he could go back and pretend that never happened.  
  
Yet, that's not the case. A pale woman, shorter, yet older than George, answers the door. Her eyes filled with tears as she took him in.  
  
"George!" Dream's sister exclaims with excitement. "I thought I'd never see you again!"  
  
George forces a soft smile, not saying any words. Dream's brother comes out of his room, and peeks over his mother's shoulder to see a regretful George.  
  
"Would you like to come in?" Dream's mother offers.  
  
"If you'd let me."  
  
She lovingly nods, and once in the home, she holds George in a tight embrace, crying her feelings out on him.  
  
"I'm sorry I left-"  
  
"You're back now," she interrupts. "I'm so sorry. Would you like some tea?"  
  
George politely shakes his head, declining.  
  
"George! Look at these flowers I brought from the field over by the bakery yesterday!"  
  
George brings his attention to the young girl, scanning through the array of plants. His eyes water at the sight of them. To the far left is a tulip. He didn't need to ask what color it was.  
  
 _'Goodbye, my love. It's red tulips today.'_  
  
George remembers the anger he felt when writing that last letter. All of the things he wrote down and scribbled out, knowing none of them Dream would ever see. He felt uneasy now, thinking about it. He wish he didn't, for his eyes begin to water in front of the poor girl. Too young to understand her older brother will never come back. Too young to be fazed by it. Too young to acknowledge it. He bursts, afraid of scaring her.  
  
She steps back, not in terror, but in confusion. She's too young. The world's not fair. The Lord took Dream away from him. From _them._ His beautiful family. And never will he ever love someone the way he loves Dream ever again.  
  
 _'I won’t let you go, George._  
 _Even if your heart makes room for another- or takes my place entirely. I wouldn’t mind._  
 _If I’m gone, George. I would’ve wished for you to be happy.'_  
  
That stupid note that he kept along with the others. Stored safely, but he knows he'll never look over them again. He'll hurt too much. Just as he does now.  
  
Just as he does now. George has never felt _such pain._ This was way deeper than a scuff from falling off your bike, or knicking yourself with a razor. It was far, far deeper than that. It physically hurt his heart. It's been shattered ever since. He's never been _so_ hurt, needing to cry, so upset, too sad. He's never felt this way, ever. Life usually teaches you, and prepares you for all the things you need to know, but _this._ This was something George could've never been prepared for.  
  
 _“De Profundis, meaning heartfelt cry of anguish or sorrow.”_  
  
The first ever note. Maybe not directed towards him, but the reason why he even talked to Dream in the first place. Maybe he regrets it, maybe he cherishes it, maybe both. Nothing could ever take away all the moments he stayed and shared with Dream.  
  
He dreaded coming to his family's home. Yet, he felt at home here. He didn't realize it, but the children, and surprisingly mother, had huddled around him, holding him. Holding each other. It was like his soul had left with Dream. They felt it.  
  
 _“When you really want love, you will find it waiting for you.”_  
  
George has been waiting for so long. So, so long. Dream was never coming home. And he had to accept it.  
  
He pulls himself out of the family's arms, making his way into the room he once stayed in while Dream was away. Into Dream's room.  
  
He made his way to the bed, and reached to the bedside drawers. He opens the top one, taking out a piece of parchment, and a pen, left from himself. He never even got to properly say goodbye. So, he writes.  
  
 _Dear Dream,_  
 _How are you? It's been 74 days. That might not seem like much, but to me it is. It's been forever. 74 days that I've been craving you. Yearning and longing for the day you come back. Alas, you're gone for eternity, and I will never be able to hold you in my arms, ever again._  
  
 _Is a God real? You probably believed so. I prayed for you. You made me want to pray for you. I prayed for you every night you were gone. So selfishly. I prayed for you to come back home to me. You made me want to pray for you, even when I think god is fake._  
  
 _You're probably up there asking him for forgiveness on my behalf. I don't want it. No thank you._  
  
 _I'm mad at him. I'm angry he took you away. If he was real he would've known a beautiful soul like yours belonged here, with me._

_'Good men die in a war, but great men come out of it.'_

_Do you remember the day you left, and the sergeant had said that? I thought 'that is just complete nonsense,' and it was. I know you were the strongest man out on that field. You were more than 'great'. You are everything I want._

_I'm sorry I never directly showed appreciation for you the way I now want to. I wish you knew how much joy you brought me. I hope I brought you just as much. I took our moments for granted. I'm sorry I never held your hand in our library. I'm sorry the last time we kissed was the last time forever. I'm sorry we never finished our books. I'm sorry I will never be able to give you more quotes from them, that mean more. I'm sorry we never went on our date. With no books, just us._   
  
_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._   
  
_I'm sorry, I know you hate to see me like this. I know you'd never like to see me upset, but how can I keep from it? You were my happiness, my sunshine, my love, my everything. Now my everything is gone, and it feels as though a part of myself has been ripped away._   
  
_I'm pushing people away, my love._   
  
_I pushed my family away, for good. Almost certain I half pushed Nicholas away. I almost pushed your family away. I could never do that. I would've never forgaven myself. I didn't, for the little time I was away from them._   
  
_There have been so many things I've wanted to tell you, yet, now that the time has come, I am at a loss for words. You always brought out that side of me. Your beaming eyes, and glowing smile. On my worst days, you always made them the best. Why can't this all be a dream?_   
  
_I promise I won't forget you. How can I? I think about you every day._   
  
_That's poison, my love._

_My mother was right._

_'It means you have so much left to do, George.'_

_My father was right. I've wasted my days, waiting for you. Keeping a sliver of hope, wishing you'll come home. Maybe you got lost? Maybe you're still of there, on the field, not gone yet. Maybe, maybe..._

_Why would you ever make such a promise? With me? With your sister? I remember seeing you both locking pinkies. Why would you make such a promise you cannot keep?_

_'If I do not come, please don't wait for me. I wouldn't want you to spend your precious time holding up on a dead man.'_

_Why would you lie to me?_

_I know you'd want me to eat, or sleep, or get some fresh air. Still, my stomach is empty. The nights I've spent away were spent crying until I was no longer able to, or staring up to my plain ceiling. I can barely pull myself out of bed, and when I do, it's to go down to that dreary station. None of this makes sense. Life is unfair._   
  
_I don't want to end this letter, and this letter specifically. Simply because if I do, it'll be the last time we speak for a while._   
  
_I'm forgetting so much, and I've not told you so much._   
  
_I adore the color blue, did you know that?_   
  
_I dread flowers, maybe even hate them. With a burning passion. Yet, I still can't seem to refrain from connecting with that flower bush, down my everyday path._   
  
_I was so sad before you. I was as I am now. Empty, and emotionless. Except now it only burns. Burns more than I ever thought it would. It burns, how do I stop it from burning?_   
  
_I want to work as a writer. I want to write stories about us. Ones from before, and ones that would've been true. I'll write one about the day you were supposed to come back. Maybe you would've came back all patched up, from your hard work and dedication. In my story, you came back. You kissed me, just like you said you would. And it wouldn't have been the last time. In a long time. In my story we're happy._

_'You deserve a love I cannot give.'_

_I wouldn't have cared if I'd have known something like this were to happen. Nobody's done anything for us, anyway._   
  
_I'm running out of things to say._   
  
_I want to hold on._   
  
_Hold on to you._   
  
_Please don't go._   
  
_I need you._   
  
_I miss you. So much._   
  
_God is fake._   
  
_Maybe I would've been scared to say that if you were still out that field, but you're not. He took you away from me._   
  
_I'm sorry._   
  
_Nothing is fair here._   
  
_I want to sit with you again. Discussing books. I want to hold your hand. I want to hear your soothing voice, the one that once brought me peace with all the chaos. What will I do, now that you're gone? Keep going, I suppose. Keep going for you. There's nothing more I want than to be with you. Yet, I know you're only cheering me on._   
  
_I miss you so much._   
  
_I love you so much._   
  
_This hurts, a deeper pain. I've never felt this way in my life._   
  
_I'll see you again, someday. I'll be with you again. You and me, again. Together. And nothing will tear us apart then._

_There's nothing in this world that could ever stop me from loving you. Alive or dead. My heart will forever beat for you. And only you. It belongs to you._   
  
_I'm afraid to say goodbye for now._   
  
_How do I end this?_   
  
_I love you. And your mother loves you, and your sister loves you, and your brother loves you._   
  
_I'll pray to see you in my dreams, every night I remember, so be ready to come see me, okay?_   
  
_I love you._   
  
_I'll see you ~~soon~~ later._   
  
_We'll meet again._   
  
_Goodbye, Dream._

**Author's Note:**

> apologies, if this wasn't as formal as the original piece. constructive criticism appreciated!! :D the original is so good, i deeply suggest you read it! you will cry. anyways, thank you for reading. forgive me if anything is misspelled, or something doesn't add up with the original writing :)


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